


left hook

by princesskay



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-19 15:53:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22213432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesskay/pseuds/princesskay
Summary: Bill's attempt at getting back into shape inspires Holden to be a little more assertive.
Relationships: Holden Ford/Bill Tench
Comments: 18
Kudos: 88





	left hook

The big, cardboard delivery box is sitting on Bill’s front porch when he comes home from work that evening. He gets out of his car, and approaches it warily. He circles the box, and scans the labels for a moment before unlocking the front door. 

The thing is half his height and weighs nearly one hundred pounds. It’s too awkward to wrap his arms around it and lift it, so he ends up tipping it over and dragging it down the steps into the garage. He’s panting and breaking a sweat by the time he rips the box open to get a good look at the impulse purchase he’d made a week ago. The black leather of the punching bag stares back at him, mockingly. It can probably hear him gasping for breath from the simple task of dragging it to the garage, let alone getting it up onto the hook mounted on the ceiling and taking a swing at it. 

Bill mutters a curse, thinking about taping the box up and returning the damn thing. 

Nobody had ever told him that sleeping with someone fifteen years younger than him could damage his pride rather than stroke it. 

Two weeks ago, he’d spent the night at Holden’s apartment only to be woken at seven o’clock the next morning to Holden getting dressed in track pants and a sweatshirt. 

“What are you doing?” Bill groaned, rolling over to glimpse Holden kneeling to lace up his tennis shoes.

“Going for a run.” Holden replied, cheerfully. “I do it every morning.” 

“It’s so early.” 

“This is the best time to do it. It’s not too hot out yet.” Holden replied, unperturbed. “The fresh air is good for you. You can come with me if you want.” 

“No thanks, I’m beat. Keeping you satisfied is hard work.” 

Holden had chuckled, pleased with himself, and bounced out the door without second-guessing Bill’s reasoning. 

He’d never thought about how Holden keeps himself in shape, had only appreciated the benefits of his young, toned body while it was on top of him, riding his dick. But, the conversation had stuck in his head through to the next evening when they were together again, and Holden’s hands were all over his body. Bill had nearly stopped Holden to ask him whether or not it bothered him that Bill is much older than him before swallowing it down in disbelief. 

He’s not the type to be self-conscious or vain. He’d stopped caring about whether or not other people find him attractive years ago, and to be brutally honest, he’d stopped caring about what Nancy thought of how he looked quite some time before the divorce. The endless cigarettes, countless hours sitting on his ass in a car, and greasy diet of fast food burgers hadn’t bothered him, or made him stop to consider what his largely sedentary lifestyle is doing to his body - until now. 

Once upon a time, a few decades ago, he’d been a star athlete in highschool, and he still has the boxing gloves and trophies to prove it. He’d dug them out of a box stuffed in the back of his closet along with other sentimental pieces of garbage he’d never found the time to throw away. Then, he’d gone and ordered the punching bag without thinking about the fact that he’s thirty years older than he was when he won the varsity wrestling trophy, and going at the punching bag for hours at a time might not be as plausible or easy as it had once been. 

Staring down at the bag, he’s starting to question whether or not the purchase was a wise idea. A part of him wants to say  _ fuck it _ . He shouldn’t have to apologize for his lifestyle. He works his ass off. Not necessarily in a gym or any other type of exercise capacity, but he works sixty goddamn hours some weeks. The other half is warning him that if he’s interested in getting somewhat back into shape, he should probably do it sooner rather than later. He’s no spring chicken, a fact which is becoming clearly unavoidable since he’d broken a sweat just hauling the punching bag into the garage. 

Bill huffs a sigh, and drags the bag out of the packaging. With no small amount of effort, he hoists the thing up onto the ceiling hook, and takes a step back to watch it swing lazily back and forth at him. 

Sliding his cigarettes from his shirt pocket, he lights one up, and takes a slow drag. Tendrils of smoke curl from his lips as he regards the punching bag gradually losing momentum, until it’s hanging perfectly still, black leather gleaming in the fading sunlight. 

He goes back into the house for two hours to have dinner and let his food digest for a little bit in front of the television before throwing on a pair of sweatpants and an undershirt. He takes the gloves with him to the garage. 

The velcro is warped and fuzzy, but he manages to strap the gloves tightly enough around his wrists so that they won’t budge. The weight of the gloves on his fists and the sight of the cracked, red leather incites a flood of memory, moments he’d forgotten about entirely without even meaning to. 

He’d spent countless hours in his parent’s garage with a punching bag he’d salvaged when the local gym replaced their equipment. His father had insisted they didn’t have the money to purchase a brand new one, and Bill had pummelled the old thing until it split apart at the seams. By that time, he was working a job after school, and he’d scraped together the money to buy one of his own. Somehow, he’d found the time to finish his school work, compete in sports, and bring in a paycheck. At the time, all that responsibility hadn’t weighed on him at all. He’d been too focused on graduation and getting out on his own, away from his parent’s house. 

_ Where did all that drive and ambition go to? And how do I get it back?  _ He thinks, staring down at the faded leather gloves. 

Shifting his gaze to the punching bag, he takes a shuffling step closer. Extending his fist, he taps the glove against the bag, testing the weight of it. His gentle push barely has an affect on the bag. 

Bill lets his hand drop, and draws in a deep breath. His gaze cuts to the street beyond the garage, but none of his neighbors are in view of this meager attempt at motivating himself. He can hear kids screeching with laughter several yards over, blissfully unaware. 

_ Just punch the damn thing. Who gives a fuck what the neighbors think?  _

He brings his gloved fists up, and shifts into a defensive stance. The bag swings gently in the breeze. 

He closes his eyes for a moment, concentrating on his form. It’s been ages, but the movements are ingrained somewhere in the back of his mind, laced into muscle memory with a tenacity that hasn’t yet faded away. 

Opening his eyes, he swings with his fist, and lands a solid punch to the center of the bag. The force of the contact reverberates up his arm, but it only encourages the exhilarated rush gaining speed in his pulse. 

He punches the bag again, channeling more force into the movement. The glove smacks into the leather, and the bag swings, chain squealing against the metal hook. As it rotates back towards him, Bill punches with his right fist and then the left. 

After no less than ten blows, Bill takes a heavy step back to watch the bag spin. He’s already breathing hard again, and sweating beneath the thin layer of his shirt; but the tempo of his heartbeat and the responding tingle of contact in his gloved fists feels euphorically good, exactly the way he remembers it. 

Catching his breath, Bill lays into the bag again. His fists land with growing certainty, filling the garage with the thud and squeal of the bag jolting beneath the force of the gloves. He paces the blows, making sure there’s just enough space between him and the bag to guarantee he’s not expending more effort than necessary, using the momentum of the bag to increase the force of his punches. 

He’s so concentrated that the sound of a car pulling along the curb doesn’t distract him from the current series of blows. 

Holden wanders up the driveway, but doesn’t make his presence known until he announces, “I don’t believe this.” 

Bill spins around, and the bag hits him in the shoulder. Shading his eyes against the dying sunlight, Bill glimpses Holden entering the garage with a six-pack of beer in his hand. 

“Holden? What are you doing here?” 

“I thought I’d come over.” Holden says, a bewildering smile curving his mouth. “This is new.” 

“Did we make plans?” 

“Nope. I brought beer, though.” Holden says, lifting the six pack. “It looks like you might need one.”

Bill braces his hands against the bag to pause it’s lazy swinging. Panting heavily, he glances down to see a triangle-shaped sweat stain spreading across the front of his shirt. 

“Thanks.” Bill says, “Are they cold?” 

“Yep.” Holden sets the six-pack down on the trunk of Bill’s Plymouth, and crosses his arms. “When did you get a punching bag?” 

“Today.” Bill says, trying not to sound so out of breath. 

Holden’s eyes are gleaming with amusement. “What made you do that?” 

“Nothing.” Bill says, defensively. “I just figured it was time to get off my ass every once in awhile.” 

“Well, I’m no boxing expert, but you look pretty good.” Holden says, leaning against Bill’s car with a smile tugging at his mouth. 

“You don’t have to flatter me, Holden.” 

“I’m not.” 

“I used to compete in highschool and college.” Bill says, “I know what out-of-shape and pathetic looks like.” 

“God, you are so harsh.” Holden says. 

“Well, I didn’t win the nationals by going easy on myself.” 

“Is there nationals for FBI agent workaholics over forty?” 

“Jesus.” Bill says, casting him a scowl. “Now who’s being harsh?” 

Holden shrugs, smirking. “Just wondering what prompted it. I’m a little shocked to be seeing this.” 

“You’re not the only one.” Bill grumbles. 

He rips his right glove open with his teeth, and tugs it from his fist. He discards the other glove, and joins Holden by the car. He grabs one of the beers, and cracks it open. 

“So, is this a thing now?” Holden asks, turning to brace his elbows against the trunk of the car. “And can I come watch every night?” 

Bill shoots him a narrow gaze over the tilt of the beer bottle. He takes a long swig, and swipes the back of his hand over his mouth. 

“Sure, if you want to watch an old man wear himself out after five minutes with a punching bag, be my guest.” 

“Okay.” Holden says, regarding him coyly, eyelashes lowered. “But you have to promise me one thing.” 

“What’s that?” 

“You won’t get too ripped.” Holden says, “I like your body.” 

“Really?” Bill scoffs, waving a hand at his stomach. “You like this?” 

“Yes. Why not?” Holden says, sounding earnest despite Bill’s disbelief. “You’re soft, and you make a great pillow.” 

“Oh, geez, thanks. Just what I always wanted to be.” 

“You’re terrible at taking a compliment, you know that?” 

“Mhm.” Bill mutters, taking another drink of his beer. 

Holden pushes away from the car, and sidles up to Bill’s chest. 

Bill lets his beer sink to the trunk of the car as Holden’s hand braces against his side, absorbing the expansion of his ribs still swelling with exhilarated breaths. 

Holden’s gaze wanders steadily over Bill’s tense expression, and down his chest to where the collar of the undershirt is soaked through with sweat. He lifts a finger and runs it down Bill’s stammering pulse, against the slick hollow of his collarbones. 

Bill clenches his jaw as the simple touch sends a shallow pulse down his belly and between his legs. 

“What are you doing?” He whispers. 

Holden’s fingertip trails through the glaze of perspiration trickling down his sternum and against the neckline of the shirt, gently tugging the fabric to the side. 

“I like this look on you.” Holden murmurs, cutting Bill a heavy-lidded gaze. He leans forward to press a kiss to Bill’s chest, right above his nipple. 

“Yeah?” Bill mutters, his chest rising against the warm pressure of Holden’s lips. “My sweat turns you on?”

“A little bit.” 

A smart retort gets lost in the groan building at the back of Bill’s throat as Holden kisses his way across Bill’s chest, and licks a straight line from the bottom of his sternum to the ridge of his collarbones. He grabs onto Holden’s waist, muting a curse. 

“Holden-”

Holden reaches down to feel for his cock as his mouth lathers Bill’s collarbone and throat, smearing wet, open-mouthed kisses against his building pulse. His questing fingers find Bill’s half-hard erection, and bring it to full, aching hardness with a few vigorous strokes. 

“Jesus.” Bill whispers, “Holden, slow down.” 

Holden lifts his head, shooting Bill a delirious gaze, pupils already blown with need. “Slow down?” 

“Anybody driving by could see.” Bill says, nodding toward the open door of the garage. 

“Oh, yeah. Hold on.” 

Bill braces a hand against the cool steel of the car as Holden darts around him. He presses a hand to his groin, trying in vain to suppress the need building between his legs. The dried line of Holden’s saliva melted into his sweat simmers on his chest, urging the heady tingle in his blood. 

The sound of the garage door engaging brings his gaze swinging over his shoulder. The cables overhead squeal into motion, slowly dragging the garage door down between them and the open street. 

Holden saunters back to him, reaching up to unbutton his shirt before the garage door has reached the floor. Daylight saps away, leaving them in semi-darkness when Holden reaches him. He strips his shirt back from his shoulders, and leans into Bill’s chest, planting a hard, hungry kiss on Bill’s faintly protesting lips. 

The weight of his body leans into Bill, pinning him back against the bumper of the car. Both hands surge up against Bill’s sides, delving beneath the damp fabric of his undershirt to feel along his trembling ribs. 

The garage door seals shut, and the sound of their heavy, panting kisses fills the hollow silence of the garage. The only light source is from the narrow row of windows at the top of the garage door, allowing just enough illumination for Bill to glimpse the eager gleam in Holden’s eyes when he pulls back. 

Holden tugs the undershirt impatiently up Bill’s chest, and Bill has no choice but to lift his arms to allow the shirt to come off. Holden discards it, and leans in to plant his mouth wetly against Bill’s chest. 

Bill closes his eyes, biting back a groan while Holden’s mouth stamps its way lower, until he's biting gently at his nipple. 

“Fuck.” Bill mutters, grasping at Holden’s hair. “Holden. Jesus.” 

Holden draws back, shooting Bill a hazy look. His lips are pink and wet against Bill’s chest, expelling hot, eager breaths into his skin. 

“What?” Holden asks, sensing Bill’s hesitation rippling underneath his pleasured groan. 

“I haven’t showered all day. Are you sure-”

“I’m about to blow you, and you’re thinking about that?” Holden asks, chuckling softly. 

“Well, yeah, I mean …” 

Holden reaches up to plant a hand over Bill’s mouth, stemming the protest abruptly. Bill scowls as Holden stares back at him defiantly. 

“Just be quiet, and let me do this.” Holden says. 

“Okay.” Bill mumbles against Holden’s palm. 

Holden’s hand slips away from his mouth, and drifts down between his legs. His tongue curls against Bill’s nipple as he rubs the heel of his hand into the hard bulge of Bill’s cock straining against his sweatpants. 

Bill braces one hand against the car while he grips Holden’s hair with the other, trying to ease the stampede of need overtaking him, trying to temper the feeling of control slipping out of his grasp. He’s usually the one taking the lead, pushing Holden up against the wall, stripping off his clothes, making him shudder and moan; he hadn’t thought his first, pathetic attempt with the punching bag would be the thing to trigger such forwardness in Holden. 

He’s still reeling from this realization as Holden slides his fingers under the waistband of the sweatpants, and tugs the loose fabric away. The pants sink to his ankles, and Holden’s hand rushes in to claim his cock firmly through his underwear. 

Bill groans, cracking his eyelids open to glimpse Holden’s mouth smearing across his chest, cruising lower against his belly. 

Holden’s hot, wet kisses patter all the way down his stomach until he’s on his knees, fingers tugging eagerly at Bill’s boxers. He pulls until the straining fabric lets loose from the hard jut of Bill’s cock, and he springs free, twitching against cool air. 

Holden’s hand is quick to claim him, the warmth of his palm sealing away Bill’s cock from the low temperature of the garage. 

Bill’s hips jolt against the firm tug of Holden’s hand. He grabs onto the loose curls at Holden’s crown, and chokes back a groan. 

Holden strokes him for a moment, watching the swollen, pink head of Bill’s cock slide in and out of his fist. 

“Did I already say I love your body?” He murmurs, leaning forward to expel a hot stream of breath across Bill’s cock head. 

“Yeah.” Bill chokes out, his knees wobbling against the steady pull of Holden’s touch. 

“Well, I do.” Holden mutters, his tongue curling across his lower lip. “I really fucking do.” 

Bill leans heavily into the car as Holden’s tongue comes off his lower lip to slide along the leaking slit of Bill’s cock. He groans, his belly clenching with a hot wave of arousal. 

Holden swirls his tongue across the head, lathering him with saliva before sucking it past his lips.

Bill’s body bows forward, fighting the surge of crushing arousal pounding between his thighs. Clutching Holden’s hair, he watches helplessly as his cock slides wetly to and from Holden’s lips.

Holden’s eyes slip shut, and he groans a sound of satisfaction that vibrates through Bill’s throbbing cock. He sucks steadily for several long moments before he leans back, letting Bill’s cock pop free of his lips. Saliva stretches in a thin string between his lower lip and the head, drawing Bill’s gaze into hazy focus. 

Holden presses his knuckles against his mouth, breaking Bill’s stare to his eyes. Gleaming intent lingers in the dusky, cobalt blue, and Bill draws in a shaky breath as he can almost feel the shift in the atmosphere. 

“Turn around.” Holden says, softly. 

Bill swallows hard. “What?”

“You heard me.” 

“I thought you said you were going to blow me.” Bill says, struggling to sound indifferent, if not indignant. “You can’t get my hopes up like that, and then pull out at the last minute.” 

“I’m not.” Holden says, “I wouldn’t do that to you.” 

“Then what  _ are  _ you doing?” Bill asks, impatient as heat begins to scald his cheeks. 

“I’m going to make you come so hard you won’t know what hit you.” Holden says, his tone calm and maddeningly confident. 

Bill gazes uncertainly at him for a moment before slowly turning to face the trunk of the car. His forgotten, half-drunk beer bottle is sweating just as hard as he is. Bracing his hands against the car, he glances anxiously over his shoulder to see Holden shifting closer. 

Holden’s hands brush against Bill’s hips as he leans in to plant a slow kiss against his lower back. “Look straight ahead.” 

“Why?” 

“It’s better if you’re not anticipating it.” 

Bill tamps down an impatient sigh, but focuses his gaze on the slate gray gleam of the car paint. 

Holden’s mouth stamps a row of kisses along his back and against the bottom of his spine, gradually working lower. The heat of his breath simmers across Bill’s skin, spiking the blood already racing hot through his veins. His chest hammers with thick realization and anticipation, his mind leaping ahead to where else Holden’s breath is going to tickle in the next few moments. He thinks about putting up a fight, or trying to stop Holden from what he’s about to do; but his body is already singing with need, and the panic is muted by taut, aching arousal. 

Holden’s palm braces against his back, pushing him forward. 

Bill bites back a grunt as he leans forward on his elbows. His palms itch with sweat against the cool steel of the car trunk. 

Holden mutters a pleased sound, and kisses across the curve of Bill’s right ass cheek. His palms glide up the backs of Bill’s thighs, sending a wave of tingles surging up and down his body. 

Bill mutes a breathless whimper behind the clench of his jaw as Holden’s hands rise up to grasp his ass cheeks, spreading him open to the hot gust of his breath. His mind races with panic for half a second before Holden’s tongue slithers up against him, all wet and hot, wriggling and exotic; his insides clamp down with arousal as the sensation goes directly to his groin. His cock jolts with need, descending into a throbbing frenzy of swollen, pulsing arousal. 

Leaning into the car, Bill gasps a sound of shock and pleasure. His hips lurch in Holden’s grasp, neither fighting the sensation nor encouraging it, only reacting in pure alarm at the newness of this pleasure washing across his nerve-endings like fire. 

Holden grips him tighter to hold him place as his tongue begins to swirl, dancing in taut, firm circles against the taut pucker. 

“Jesus.” Bill rasps, curling his hands into fists against the car. “Fuck.” 

Holden hums an elated response, and presses closer. His tongue lathers up and down the cleft, but comes back to his hole each time to churn in dizzying revolutions against the lapsing muscles. 

Bill groans, leaning back into the sweet, slick pressure on impulse. His whole body is pounding with pleasure, and he’s tripped and stumbled all the way past his initial hesitation, too lost in the erotic sensation to consider trying to curb his responses. 

Holden’s tongue retreats for mere seconds before the pressure of his lips return, sucking down the pucker of flesh. 

Gasping aloud, Bill arches uncontrollably against the tugging suction of Holden’s mouth. His cock spasms with need, and he feels close to coming despite Holden’s touch being far from touching him there. He thinks of reaching down to touch himself and finish off the pleasure burning through his veins, but a stronger part of him wants to let this go on a little longer. 

The hot suction of Holden’s mouth lets up, and he leans back just far enough to exhale hot, exhilarated breath across Bill’s slick skin. 

Bill pants heavily, keeping his eyes squeezed shut. His body trembles, impatiently waiting for Holden to touch him again. He wants to open his eyes and look back, but he remembers Holden’s admonishment at the beginning. The lurching anticipation in his veins is enough to keep the flame of desire burning while the idea that he has absolutely no control over what Holden is doing slowly begins to sink in, not quite as uncomfortable as he’d expected. 

Holden braces his left hand against Bill’s ass cheek while the slick fingertips of his other hand trace a line down the cleft. The touch is so unlike the soft, wet press of his tongue that Bill can’t help the strangled cry that rushes from his throat. 

His hips instinctively arch away from the touch, but Holden guides him back in place with a gentle yet firm grasp. 

“Stay still.” Holden murmurs. 

“I’m trying.” Bill says, mustering indignance. “You’re making it difficult.” 

Holden chuckles softly, extending his fingertip down against his hole. 

Bill’s breath hitches, and he presses his eyes shut against the clench of anticipation singeing across his nerves. Holden’s touch barely contains any pressure; momentarily, it’s just there, mapping out this intimate part of his body, wandering, searching. Bill wants to yell at him to hurry it up already, but his throat is choked with groans and it might come out as something closer to a helpless whimper. 

Holden’s fingertip narrows in on his hole, smearing saliva across the opening for a long, torturous moment before applying pressure. 

Bill groans, his body seizing up against the slight pressure. He braces a hand against the sleek trunk of the car, trying to relax against the sensation even as everything in him wants to fight it. Momentarily, he wonders if this is how Holden felt the first time Bill fingered him, or if he’d done it with someone else before and already realized how unusual yet pleasant the sensation is. Suddenly, he feels wildly out of his depth, ignorant and childish inside an experience he probably should have attempted a long time ago. 

He doesn’t have a chance to let that fear overwhelm him as Holden’s finger slides into him, the touch deliberate and confident. It feels strange just before it feels good, and Bill finds himself groaning aloud. 

Holden thrusts his finger lazily in and out, pushing past the resistance to the knuckle until Bill melts against him, accepting the caress. 

“Fuck.” Bill groans, gingerly thrusting back against the pressure. 

Holden kisses the curve of his backside as he pumps his finger in and out. 

“Feels good?” He murmurs, his tone hopeful yet certain. 

“Y-yeah.” Bill stammers, pressing his eyes shut against the flush of heat that crawls up his throat and cheeks. 

“Good.” Holden murmurs, “You want another?” 

Bill bites into his lower lip. His throat constricts. He can’t speak so he simply nods, hoping Holden can see it, that he won’t force him to say it aloud. 

Holden’s finger slides out of him, leaving him untouched for scarce seconds before he leans in to deposit a stream of saliva across the opening. 

Bill draws in a shaky breath, bracing himself. He has to wait only moments before Holden’s fingers return, glazing the saliva over the opening before pushing inside. 

Holden presses two fingers in slowly, letting Bill’s body adjust to the pressure. 

Bill’s entire body holds rigidly still as the weight and breadth of Holden’s fingers go into him, and his body spasms against the intrusion. He gasps in fractured breaths, his head spinning with the enormity of shocked pleasure washing over him. He leans back into it, taking Holden’s fingers with a broken gasp. 

“Fuck.” He moans, his body squirming helplessly against the steady pressure. “God, Holden.” 

Holden hums a reply, and pets his other hand down the back of Bill’s thigh. 

“Relax.” He murmurs, his breath whispering hotly across Bill’s ass cheek. 

Bill does his best to comply with the suggestion, but his nerves are strung out and blazing, his whole body on sharp alert against the aching sensation of Holden’s fingers lodged inside him. Then, Holden’s fingers crook inside him, and arch down against a tender spot deep inside him, unlocking a fresh vein of white-hot pleasure he hadn’t seen coming. 

Bill cries out, and the desperate sound of his voice, wrecked with pleasure, echoes back at him from the hollow, cement walls of the garage. Clinging to the cool, solid structure of the car, Bill urges back against the pressure, longing to repeat that same brilliant spark of pleasure shooting through him. 

Holden’s fingers begin to thrust into him, pumping him open, yet avoiding that tender spot for long, aching moments. 

Bill drags his fist to his mouth, muffling a straining cry with his knuckles. He breathes hard through his nostrils, not wanting to open his mouth for the inelegant groans of desperation to spill into the garage. His hips lurch back into the steady thrusting, searching for the pleasure he’d felt only moments ago. 

Holden stretches it out for several moments before allowing his fingers to hook down again. They easily locate the swollen bud of Bill’s prostate, gliding over it with just enough pressure to incite that blinding surge of satisfaction deep in his bones. 

“Oh, fuck.” Bill groans, his voice muffled in the press of his knuckles. 

His eyes clamp shut as his body seizes, everything going still and taut with anticipation. 

“Fuck, Holden.” He curses between breathless panting. “That’s it. Right there.” 

Holden’s fingers bear down, rubbing in hard, tight circles that gradually push Bill closer and closer to the edge. He feels it coming, clamping down hard between his hips, surging up through his veins like an unstoppable flood. 

Tearing his hand from his mouth, he reaches between his legs to grab onto his leaking cock. He’s already half-way coming by the time his fist closing around his throbbing shaft, tiny spurts of cum drizzling out of him just before the rest explodes. Seizing his cock, he jerks his hand desperately, working out only a few sloppy tugs before his whole body lurches against the support of the car. The spasms hit him hard, surging up through his chest and belly in wave after wave of tingling, ecstatic convulsions. His eyes clamp shut over the explosion of pleasure blazing across the backs of his eyelids, and his mouth stretches open. For a moment, it’s a hollow, silent scream of intense pleasure before his throat opens up to release a gasping, feeble moan. 

Holden’s fingers grind against him through the height of pleasure, stretching out the deep, hard spasms to the length of their capacity until the orgasm peaks and dies. As Bill sinks limply against the car, Holden carefully withdraws his fingers. 

Bill clings to the car as awareness trickles across his senses, and he realizes his legs are trembling with a drained weakness. His hand rests limply against his wilted cock, fingers dripping with cum. He can feel some of it on his chest and groin, everything slick and drenched with his pleasure. 

Holden’s fingers graze Bill’s ass as he rises to his feet. 

Bill leverages his elbows underneath of him, and pushes up from the car. His head is spinning and his ears are ringing with the intensity of the orgasm. 

Holden grasps his hip, urging Bill around to face him. 

Bill leans his hips back against the car, and gradually opens his eyes to see Holden gazing up at him, a smug smile on his lips. 

“Good, right?” Holden murmurs, leaning into kiss him. 

“Mm.” Bill grunts, still searching for his voice somewhere in the swimming alarm and satisfaction.   
“You came so hard.” Holden whispers, his voice lilting with self-satisfied joy. 

Bill pants against the corner of Holden’s mouth, wrapping both arms around his waist. “You don’t have to sound so smug about it.” 

“Please, don’t try to pretend like it wasn’t one of the best things you’ve ever experienced.” 

“Now you’re just getting cocky.” Holden chuckles as Bill tugs him closer to press his kiss into his throat. “Come here, you little shit.” 

Holden’s arms wrap around his neck, pinning Bill’s kisses to his neck. He rocks his hips, nudging his obvious erection into Bill’s thigh. 

Bill reaches down to unbuckle his belt, and quickly yanks down the zipper. Holden utters an impatient whimper as Bill pushes the trousers down just far enough to grip Holden through his briefs. 

“Fuck, Bill.” Holden groans, trembling his grasp. “I’m so close.” 

Bill lifts his head to kiss him, stemming Holden’s effusive whimpers while he continues to steadily stroke him through the cotton of his underwear. 

Holden tears his mouth away, breathing heavily. “You got me so turned on.” He murmurs, his gaze hazy with need. “I almost came in my underwear a minute ago.” 

Bill grunts back a groan. “Is that so?” 

“Yes.” Holden gasps, his eyes slipping shut. “You’re about to make me …” 

Bill releases him, and Holden groans, pressing his forehead against Bill’s cheek. 

“Fuck.” He whispers, his voice shaking with the intensity of his arousal. 

Bill hooks his fingers under the elastic of the briefs, and carefully peels the fabric back from Holden’s swollen cock. The underwear come away to reveal his cock pulsing hard against his belly, pink and inflamed with need, ribbed with pulsing veins. Pre-cum glistens at the tip, drizzling in a fat drop against the rim of the head. 

“Jesus.” Bill whispers, drawing his thumb across the leaking slit. “That’s beautiful.” 

Holden shudders, his belly clenching hard at the simple caress. 

Bill lets his thumb travel down along the throbbing shaft, biting back a smile as he watches it squirm helplessly to his touch. 

“Bill.” Holden whimpers, urging his hips closer. “God, please.” 

Bill grasps him by the hips, and spins them around to push Holden up against the car. Holden gasps as Bill lifts him up onto the trunk, and strips his pants down below his knees. His pale thighs spill open, displaying his hard, pink cock between them. 

Bill takes his cock by the root, and plants himself between Holden’s trembling thighs. Bending down, he takes the dripping head in his mouth with no prelude, no introductory licking. 

Holden’s hips buck up against the wet pressure, and his strangled cry echoes through the garage. His fingers clamp down on the back of Bill’s neck, urging the steady, decisive strokes of his mouth riding up and down. 

“Oh, fuck, yes.” Holden groans. 

Bill tightens his grip, and drags his fist up and down from the root to meet his mouth with every suckle. He can feel Holden’s cock swelling and throbbing against his palm, pulsing closer and closer towards orgasm with every second. The taste of salt trickles against the back of his tongue, and Bill savors it along with the needy shudder leaping down Holden’s body. 

He maintains a swift, persistent rhythm until he feels Holden begin to stiffen beneath him, his nails biting into the back of Bill’s neck. 

“Oh God, Bill, I’m …” Holden gasps, his voice shaking. 

Bill pulls back to watch as Holden’s cock erupts with cum in his fist, spurting jets of milky release across his quaking belly and thighs. He keeps jerking Holden through the spasms, wringing them out of him over and over. Shooting a glance upward, he takes in Holden’s slack-jawed expression of pleasure, his mouth open, his brow twisted with concentration, his eyes half-shut and glazed with bliss. 

As the tremors ease, Bill’s hand slows to a stop against Holden’s spent, slick cock. 

Holden leans back on his elbows, and tilts his head back with a heavy sigh. “Fuck, that was good.” 

Bill releases his cock, and wipes the front and back of his hand on Holden’s pants still crumpled below his knees. 

“Hey.” Holden protests. “That’s gross.” 

“You’re staying here tonight. I can put them in the washer.” Bill soothes, dropping a kiss against his knee. 

“Who said I was staying here tonight? I just brought beer.” 

“Don’t be a tease.” Bill says, “I still have plans of fucking you before the day’s over.” 

Holden’s teeth push coyly against his lower lip. “Yeah? What if I want to fuck you?” 

Bill’s gaze cuts away instinctively. He coughs a choked sound against the back of his knuckles. “We’ll um … we’ll have to see about that.” 

“Okay.” Holden allows. He hops down from the trunk of the car, wraps his arms around Bill’s waist. “If you liked how my fingers felt, you should know how a cock feels.” 

Bill grunts a reply, hoping Holden can’t see the heat blooming on his cheeks in the low light of the garage. He plants a kiss on Holden’s mouth so that he doesn’t have to come up with a proper reply, and it works well enough. 

Holden twists out of his embrace, and tugs his underwear and trousers back up around his waist. 

“I suppose we have your new hobby to thank for this.” He says, nodding at the punching bag. 

“Yeah, who knew.” Bill says. “But it’s not really new. You should have seen me in highschool. I was at the top of my game.” 

“I wish I could go back in time to see that.” Holden says, smiling eagerly as he swipes one of the beers from the six pack. 

“Well, you were barely out of the womb at that point.” Bill says, flatly. 

Holden’s smile fades, and a frown puckers his brow. “Is that what this is about?” 

“What do you mean?”

“You, suddenly wanting to get back in shape.” Holden says. 

“No, I just-”

“Come on, Bill, don’t lie to me.” Holden says, “You know it doesn’t work.” 

Bill sighs, staring at the floor of the garage for a long moment before shifting his gaze up to meet Holden’s. 

“Well, let’s be honest.” He says, “I’m not getting any younger.” 

“Neither am I.”

“But, you certainly aren’t getting as old as I am.” 

“You’re not old.”

“Some days I feel like it.” 

“You think that I think about it?” Holden asks, softly. 

“I don’t know. Maybe.” 

“I don’t. Not really.” Holden says, with a shrug. “You’re not old to me, Bill. You’re just you.” 

“Was that supposed to be another compliment?” 

“No. I’m just saying that I’m not with you because of looks or age.” Holden says, “Though, you should know, I find you incredibly sexy.” 

Bill purses his lips, fighting back a smile. “Incredibly?” 

“Yes.” Holden says, tapping a fingertip against the middle of Bill’s chest. “Irresistibly.” 

“Oh Jesus, you really know how to lay it on thick, don’t you?” 

Holden laughs, but his smile fades into sobriety as he leans in to plant a kiss against the corner of Bill’s mouth. “Yes. But I also mean it.” 

“Great. So the punching bag stays?” 

“Yes. For sure. Yes.” 

“What about your pillow?” Bill asks, motioning to his belly. 

“Can’t I have both?”

“You ask for a lot, you know that?” 

“Yes, I know. You’ve already told me that it’s a hard job keeping me satisfied.” 

“Exhausting.” Bill says, wrapping his arm around Holden’s neck, and dragging him into a kiss. 

Their mouths cling to one another for a long moment before Holden draws back. 

“Come on. I need a shower.” Holden says, “And you should probably join me.” 

“Are you saying I stink? I thought you liked my sweat.” 

“I was really horny. And there’s a limit.” Holden says, a chuckle bubbling up from his throat. He ducks out from underneath Bill’s arm, and tugs on his wrist. “Come on.” 

Bill bends to gather up his discarded clothes before following Holden into the house. He catches one last glimpse of the punching bag before the door swings shut, and bites back a smile. The impulse purchase suddenly doesn’t feel like a mistake any longer. 

~the end~

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Proctor for inspiring me to write more bottom Bill. It was fun to try something a little different. Hope everyone enjoyed!
> 
> I'm [prinxcesskayy](https://prinxcesskayy.tumblr.com//) on Tumblr!


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